Page 271

Versions of my husband I never knew are standing all around me, kept alive in the memories of people who did.

It hurts. God, it hurts. But I want every single one. I want to collect them all, write them down somewhere and take them home with me.

Eventually, Jude moves closer. He doesn't touch me or interrupt the people speaking to me. He simply comes to stand beside me, close enough that I know he's there.

I glance at him. “He had a good life here.”

“Yeah.”

“He was happy.”

Jude looks around at the crowd. “He talked about this place all the fucking time.”

“I know.”

“Drove me insane with it.”

I smile. “I know.”

The sun sinks lower, and someone begins lighting the candles. One by one, little flames appear along the sand, flickering in their glass jars as the evening breeze moves over the beach.

Gradually, the conversations grow quieter. People move closer to the water, and Chiara comes to stand on my other side, slipping her hand into mine.

Jude takes a step back, giving us space without going far.

I look down at the urn.

This is it. The last place I promised to bring him.

Home.

My hands tremble as I walk towards the water, Chiara letting go when I reach the edge. A small wave washes over my sandals before retreating, leaving the sand shifting beneath my feet.

Behind me, the beach falls silent.

And then I hear it.

The first notes of La Donna Cannone.

I turn my head and find Lexy sitting a little way behind the others, a portable digital piano resting on a stand in front of her. Her fingers move gently over the keys, her eyes lowered in concentration.

She learned it.

For him.

For us.

My lips tremble as I recognize the melody. Our song. The one that has followed us through so many moments of our lives, and now it's here, on the beach where he spent his childhood, being played by someone who never even had the chance to meet him.

I turn back towards the sea and open the urn.

My fingers tremble as I reach inside and take a handful of ashes. I close my fist around them, holding on as tightly as I dare.

For a moment, I close my eyes.

I see him.

Not in a hospital bed. Not the way he looked at the end.